Miss Kitty

Miss Kitty came in from the South, all sweet-talking about how rough she gets it back home. But the workshop didn't care about her stories. First strap bit into her wrists. Then the steel frame grabbed her body and spread her wide, leaving nothing hidden. Every movement showed the men how exposed she was. The first cane strike landed hard across her thighs and she gasped, muscles jumping. More strikes followed—fast, deliberate—until welts bloomed across pale skin. She tried to twist away, but the cuffs held firm. Sweat ran down her spine and caught on the next lash. Her breath came shorter now, voice cracking when she begged them to slow down. They didn’t. They kept the rhythm tight, each hit timed to the second, until her legs shook and she stopped pretending this was just another night at home.